Phan Oneshots
by beware-phangirl
Summary: Hey so I made one a while ago but it was rubbish and cringe worthy so here have this and if you want more I has tumblr (beware-phangirl). And that was my shameless self promo. I'm sorry I'm just a girl who's listening to Owl City. Enjoy! maybe. possibly.
1. When You Wish Upon a Flame

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own the Night Circus it belings to Erin Morgenstern. I have taken her basic setting and interpreted it. Neither do I have Dan And Phil in a cupboard. This is FICTION.

The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not.  
Phil's alone when he catches a glance of the crisp black and white, bold against all the autumn greys and golds.  
He stops in his tracks, staring across at Hyde Park. It's been so long since he saw it last.  
Le Cirque des Rêves reclines in the centre of the park, a steady stream of interested passers-by heading towards it. Phil smiles. He was like that once - curious. Young, but still curious. The circus stimulates the curiosity in everyone. They walk up to the iron fence, study the sign, and walk away again, a mix of confusion and excitement on their cold faces. Phil smiles knowingly, wistfully

Diverting from his path home, Phil weaves through the people, anticipation skipping in his veins, making his way to the circus as a breeze wafts through the trees, disturbing the tents.  
It still looks the same. Twenty years should have aged it, distorted it, but the beauty has not changed in the slightest. An unlimited number of colourless tents, encased in an opulent, iron-wrought fence; the black and white peaks like permanent marker on the dimming sky, the mellow scent of caramel tickling his nose. All of his senses are alive and he's not even there yet.  
The bulbs are cool to his touch, his fingers are numb, but he doesn't care as he traces the intricate letters.  
"Opens at Nightfall, closes at Dawn."

"Dan!" Phil calls from his room, ambling into the lounge. Grabbing his coat as he goes, he leans on the door frame. Dan is on his laptop. Of course. He watches for a few seconds as his flatmate's fingers go between the mouse and the keyboard, creating a song of tapping which captures his brain in the weirdest way, distracting him. Or maybe that's just Dan.  
"Dan." No response. With a smirk, he realises Dan hadn't noticed him at all.  
Silently, he leans forward, above Dan's shoulder.  
"Dan!" Dan jumps, face contorting into shock before scowling up at Phil. Phil bursts into laughter as he retreats back to the doorway, covering his mouth. Dan glares even more.  
"Phil! You're not allowed to do that!"  
"We're going out." Phil announces once his giggles are diminished, choosing to ignore Dan's whines.  
"Says who." Dan scoffs, eyes returning to the screen.  
"I do."  
"You're not my mother."  
"Thank God for that." He deadpans, but there's a fond smile as he looks at Dan.  
"Where are we going?"  
"Not telling."  
"And you say you're not my mum."  
Phil thinks about slapping him, but decides against it: it's too far to reach. They sink into another internet induced silence, Phil watching Dan's eyes skim over the text and images.  
"Dan, come on. It'll be fun, I promise." Dan shakes his head slightly.  
"Nah uh."  
"Please? I would go alone, but I'd rather go with you…" Phil continues tentatively. Dan's face softens slightly, and he drags his eyes away from his laptop.  
"Why should I?" He's trying to sound firm, unwilling, but Phil's known him too long now. He knows he's probably coming. Dan knows it, too, so he fights the subliminal smile as Phil looks gleeful.  
"Because I'll unplug your laptop." Phil taunts cheekily, sneakily. "And you haven't saved the Johnlock smut you're writing."  
Dan's about to retaliate and defend himself, but doesn't. Phil looks on with triumph as he mumbles "fine" and shuts the lid, putting it to the side as he stands.  
"I don't even write smut." He mumbles, loud enough for Phil to hear. He throws Dan a pointed look, but doesn't say anything.  
Dan stands for a few seconds in front of Phil, raising his eyebrows as he waits. He plays dumb, merely to tease Phil. He's not winning that easily.  
He throws his hands out, his way of saying "now what?". Rolling his eyes, Phil grabs his hand and pulls him out into the hallway. "For heaven's sake, come onnnnn."  
Phil leads Dan to the door, throwing him his coat. His eyes rake over Dan's attire, and Dan realises that Phil's wearing all black, excluding the bright red scarf slung round his neck. How very unlike Phil.  
"You won't need to change. You're already wearing black." Phil notes, passing Dan a scarf identical to his own. Dan raises his eyebrows questioningly.  
"What's this for?"  
"I can explain when we get there." Dan continues to stare.  
"It's either that or the hat."  
"Fine." Dan loops it round his neck loosely, smoothing his hair back down afterwards.  
Phil ruffles it up again.  
Dan's glare doesn't last long when he sees Phil smirk cheerfully.  
"Lead on, then, oh King of secrets."  
"Why of course, Princess Daniel." Phil opens the door with a flourish, and Dan punches him lightly.  
"Watch it, you. I have a scarf and I'm not afraid to strangle you with it."  
Phil pouts, staring up at Dan through his fringe.  
"No you won't."  
"Oh, yes I will. And I might eat you for dinner."  
"You love me really" Phil sings as they enter the pavement, taking off in a direction and hoping Dan will follow.  
"No I don't." Dan laughs warily, and hopes his voice doesn't say otherwise.  
As they walk through the darkening streets of London, Dan has three priorities: stay warm, don't lose Phil, and dodge the pedestrians rushing in from every direction. After losing him in the crowd several times (and seeing the panic on his face), Phil pulls Dan close to him, so that they walk shoulder to shoulder as the anticipation builds. Well, Dan thinks as he convinces himself the blush is from the cold, that's two things sorted.  
Dan doesn't see it at first. He doesn't know what he's looking for. But Phil sees it; his face lights up and he looks at Dan expectantly.  
"What?" Dan notices Phil's expression but can't see anything.  
"Can't see it yet?" Dan shakes his head. "You're in for a treat." Phil reassures him, before taking off into the park, tugging a puzzled Dan along by the arm.  
"Wait." Stopping a few metres into the trees, Phil turns and faces Dan. He walks behind him, and covers his eyes with his hand. Dan shivers.  
"Jesus Christ Phil! You're freezing!" Phil giggles, but firmly keeps his fingers blocking Dan's sight.  
"Phil" Dan whines, "I wanna see!"  
"You will, in a second!"  
"But I can't see where I'm going." Dan argues, hand creeping up to pull Phil away.  
"Ah ah ah." Phil tuts, and puts his other hand on Dan's shoulder. "There. Now I can guide you. But if you can't see it, then I'm making this dramatic."  
"You and your effects."  
"Stop complaining, come on, we're nearly there." And they set off again, Dan stumbling along as Phil laughs, but holds him steady.  
Dan is speechless when he first sees it. Phil stands back, silent, whilst he gawks at it. He knows what it's like to see it for the first time, and he doesn't want to ruin it.  
The circus glows. Bright lights hidden amongst the tents form a kind of halo around it all, the gates towering around them. A babble of chatter and laughter soaks out from inside, like water gushing from silver glass, alongside the wafts of incredible delicacies. There's a queue of people heading into the gates, buying tickets and then disappearing between two velvet curtains.  
"It's magical…" Dan whispers in awe, not taking his eyes away as Phil guides him to the line.  
"I know. You glad you came?" Tearing his eyes away, Dan squeezes Phil's hand with a smile on his face. "Very." Reluctantly, he drops it.  
"Le Cirque des Rèves?" Dan reads the sign, the name made up of sparkling light bulbs.  
"The Circus of Dreams." Phil explains. It makes Dan's smile widen.  
Inside the gates is a tall clock. The long line means they can watch it as it slowly changes; when they first arrive it is a light grey, but as they stare, more colours come through, until it is a jigsaw of greys and whites and blacks, reflecting the colour of the tents. Small figures appear; books with turning pages, tea pots pouring wooden tea, and dragon, a princess, and a juggler throwing up nine silver balls. Clouds drift across it. A dancing clock moving seamlessly as people walk past. Below is a small plaque, and Dan goes over to read the swirling writing.  
"In memoriam  
Friedrick Stefan Thiessen  
September 9, 1846-November 1, 1901  
And  
Chandresh Christophe Lefèvre  
August 3, 1847-February 15, 1932"  
He can feel Phil's presence behind him. Their arms brush as Phil leans over him, pointing at the first name.  
"He built this clock. They say he was asked to build something "dream like", but he didn't know what it was for. A few years later, after being told by a friend that they saw this" his hand points to the amazing work before them "and thought it was similar to his work, he found his clock, and this place." He then gestures at the circus. His face is lit by the various lamps, his face shining with the story. "He started writing about this place, and became the first Rêveur. They were like the fandom for the circus, following it wherever it went. Everyone loved the circus, but these people were in love with it, adored it."  
"I don't blame them."  
"Same here. The Rêveurs would always wear black with something red, so that they would blend in and stand out at the same time. Soon, everyone in the circus knew who they were."  
"And what about the other guy?"  
"He had the idea for the circus in the first place."  
They fall into a comfortable silence, the same wonder struck look on their faces as they watch the clock tick forward.  
"You've been here before, haven't you?" Dan asks quietly. Phil nods, the same wistful smile on his face.  
"Yes. A long, long time ago."  
The numbers on the face are turning into stars, glistening in the night.  
"Well, we should get going, then, shouldn't we?" Dan prompts, and Phil nods slowly.  
"Right, yes. Sure." He finally looks away, and smiles at Dan. "Let's go."  
They buy their tickets from a beaming woman, who eyes their scarves knowingly. From the ticket booth they have to go through thick velvet curtains.  
"Ready?"  
"Ready."  
Inside is a spinning tunnel, the walls lines of black and white, twisting round and round. The only illumination are small winking lights, and the boisterous crowd is unseen. The tunnel seems to go on forever, but eventually they reach another pair of heavy curtains. Phil pulls then aside eagerly, and the light on the other side is blinding.  
They emerge in a bustling courtyard. In the centre is a cauldron filled with snow white flames. Instead of a brim, the top of the cauldron peels outwards in several different spikes curled round at the ends, the metal pulled apart like warm fudge. The essence of delicious food is stronger as it floods out from the many paper bags, and they both take deep lungfuls of the scent. It is a feast for the senses.

Everything is black and white. The tents, the Fire Breathers in one corner, accompanied by white flames; the living statues, the stall vendors; even the floor is another load of black and white stripes, twirling round the tents as they disappear round unknown corners. Dan can see why the Rêveurs chose to wear red. He can see a few around, beaming smiles on their faces. The black means their bodies are nearly invisible, but the red stands out like a new wound. They filter out, walk around as they explore new tents and new paths. It's a captivating sight, seeing the crimson against the white and blacks of the circus.  
For Phil, his experience is tainted by memories. Flashing images of acrobats flying above his head, funny reflections in mirrors, laughter and exploration.  
"Shall we go see a tent? Or do you want food?" Phil asks after a moment. Dan gives him a pointed look.  
"Okay, stupid question."  
"Is the food good here?" Phil pounders for a moment, shaking his memory.  
"Extraordinary."  
"Then food is my priority."  
"Right. So, what do you want? Popcorn, chocolate mice…"  
"Surprise me." Dan insists, bearing a grin that Phil reciprocates.  
"Are you alright here? You sure?"  
"Yes Phil! I'm fine! Now go! Have a mini adventure!"  
"Okay. Be back in a sec." The words barely leave his mouth before he skips off, leaving Dan alone. It's endearing seeing how excited Phil is, and he wants him to have fun, even if it means choosing food.  
He meanders over to one of the statues. Clad in white, a handsome man and woman stand inches apart, capturing the moment before - or after, Dan can't really tell - a kiss. After a few minutes of staring, he concludes that they are moving ever so slightly. Edging forwards, but never touching.  
"The lovers…" Dan reads to himself before he feels a tap on his shoulder. He spins round to be greeted by a beaming Phil, his arm carrying a bundle of snacks.  
"Hey."  
"Hey. Ooo, what did you get?" Dan peers into the bag, hand reaching in to get one of the chocolate mice.  
"Oi. Mitts off! And don't pull that face at me young man."  
"But why not? You asked if I wanted food!" Phil pulls out one of the sweets, and pops it into his mouth with a teasing smirk on his face. He gives a sigh of satisfaction.  
"Hey! Gimme gimme!" Dan pleads with grabby hands, and eventually Phil obliges.  
It's not just chocolate. It's smooth and lush and delicious, bursting with flavour. There's the faintest tinge of fruit, and the sweetness drifts in his mouth even after he's swallowed it.  
"That." He licks his lips, nodding approvingly. "Was delicious."  
"Told you." Phil agrees, before wrapping up the bag and concealing it in his pocket. "Should we go see something now?"  
"Good idea." Dan turns to face the body of the circus. "But there's a slight problem. Where do we start?" Phil laughs slightly, following Dan's gaze.  
"We wonder, I guess."  
"Okay. Let's go!" Dan points forward and takes off with a skip, Phil shaking his head and laughing and following. They pick a checkerboard path and stick to it, still skipping, winding round tents with signs before Dan doubles over, gasping.  
"Too. Much. Exercise."  
"You're such a lazy idiot, aren't you."  
Phil teases, reading the sign of the tent they've stopped at. Dan straightens slightly, pointing his finger at Phil.  
"I would…retaliate, but I haven't…got enough…energy." He gasps out, earning another chuckle from Phil.  
"Get up, you. Can we go here?"  
"What is it?"  
"Cat display…" Phil looks at Dan with wide eyes.  
"Really?"  
"Please!" Phil begs, and Dan has to give in. Phil and animals is one of the cutest things.  
"Fine." Dan groans, but secretly there's a bubble of excitement as they enter the tent.  
Inside is the opposite of expectation. It's spacious, light streams in from every angle, homing in on the space in the centre. There's something similar to the smell of old books and sugar, and as they sit down the noise from outside drifts away. Maybe the size of the circus means they don't need to have tonnes of seats, but there's hardly anyone else.  
The show is spectacular. Two performers, who look related and are dressed in flowing black and white outfits, the girl framed by stunning red hair. The cats do unbelievable leaps and bounds, spiralling out of control before landing calmly. From what Dan sees of it, it's great entertainment, but somehow he discovers himself watching Phil's face light up like a child. Part of him knows he'd prefer to watch that, but he has to focus on the show. If Phil catches him, everything they have built up will be kicked down.  
Still buzzing, they rush into the next tent they stumble on, and are swathed in white:  
The whole tent is made from ice.  
A breeze sweeps over the icicle draped trees, around the excited fountain - the froth gushing out of it as white as the snow - shaking the petals of the ice flowers. Snow flakes fall gently across the whole landscape, adding a frosting to the solid ice. They are alone in the tent, the only sign of civilisation being the running footsteps across the snow laden ground, making it seem like some kind of beautiful wasteland.  
Dan pads over to a nearby rose bush, nestling his nose in the chilling petals. The scent is soothing; a cocktail of sugar and rose, the cold prickling his nose. He turns round to show it to Phil, and is met with a face full of snow. The snow blocks his eyes, but he hears Phil erupt in rapturous laughter. Shaking his head to dislodge the flakes, and ruffling his hair in the process, to his annoyance, Dan stumbles forward, following the faint "phut" as Phil prances away.  
"Hey!" He calls, glowering when he can finally see. Phil's cheeks are several shades pinker than the usual bisque, a grin taking up most of his face. "What did I do to you?!" He exclaims, running his hand through the snow.  
"Nothing…but-but you should've seen your face!" Phil can barely speak in between laughs. Dan opens his mouth to object, and gasps as a flurry of snow glides down his back, much to the entertainment of Phil.  
"I am going to get you Phil Lester!" Dan -almost- roars, but he can't help the grin and the elated leaps of his heart as Phil runs off squealing.

"In here?" Dan nods at the tent, labelled "The Hanged Man". It's several minutes later, and Phil is still scraping out ice from his crumpled fringe. He nods slightly, moping as he eyes his hair.  
"You deserved it." Dan sings in response. "Now come on, enjoy yourself!"  
This tent is slightly more cramped, and they have to stand squashed up together like on the tube. But this is different to the underground. There's no tang of sweat, the air is crisp but comfortable, and everyone can feel the same underlying feel of magic.  
Above their heads, a dozen or so acrobats enter, swinging on ropes, flying through the air as their costumes float behind them. They perform flips and cartwheels, hurtling forward before skilfully saving themselves. Dan keeps stealing glances across at Phil, but he doesn't dare make a move, doesn't dare touch him, in fear of destroying the trust they've built.  
The audience are clapping along, the atmosphere cheery and light. Phil can feel it warming his heart, and it's odd how much emotion it can bring. A smell of popcorn joins the performers as they dance. They twist and turn into unbelievable positions, some carrying ribbons, others hanging upside down on trapezes. They are right above them.  
And there is no net.  
The roof above them is seemingly covered in hundreds of twinkling lanterns, hanging like planets and stars, casting a sharp glow on the aerialists.  
After a few bewitching minutes, he enters. A man, shrouded in a black tuxedo, hanging precariously from a single silver cord. It reflects the light as he starts to descend. Slowly, at first, but soon he is spinning in a blur, rocketing down on the cord that is getting longer and longer. Dan, in a moment of panic, clings to Phil's hand. Phil squeezes it, and doesn't let go. As they watch, their hands are intertwined, pressed between their legs. The moment when their eyes lock is captivating bliss.  
The man is still spinning. The crowd beneath him surge and part, creating a space of bare ground.  
It's a case of not looking and not looking away.  
Suddenly, just before he smacks the floor, he stops. Swaying like a pendulum at eye height. Top hat still in place, not a crease in his suit. The crowd seems to sigh, regaining composure, and he takes a bow.  
"Well that was freaking awesome." Dan announces as soon as they have left the tent, and Phil grins because that is just so quintessentially Dan.  
"Indeed it was." Around them, the same conversation is being echoed in different voices and words and tongues, and it is awesome to be part of a web like that. Like the internet in real life. Phil is humoured by the simile.  
Dan continues to chatter excitedly all the way to the next tent, recalling how he felt and the atmosphere and what happened and, well, everything. Phil nods along, adding bits here and there, and although it happens often, he never zones out. He is actually active and interested in Dan's rambles. He could go as far as to say that's one of the best parts, when Dan just let's go and emotions floods his face, because it's actually very entertaining. Dan is someone who needs to get things out, to explain them. Phil is someone who likes things being explained to him. It makes a perfect match.  
Next, they enter a labyrinth. Instead of towering brick walls which loom like sentries, it's a series of never ending doors. They start off with a corridor of six, and they choose one at random.  
The first room they enter is lined with chess boards. Even the floor is a jigsaw of marble black and white slabs. After a brief search for the key, and Phil nearly slipping on the polished floor, they discover a room full of suitcases. Suitcases stacked high up to the ceiling where they are shrouded in shadow, others strewn across the floor. The key is found by Phil, under the faded lid of one case, and twists it smoothly in the lock. The door swings open.  
There is an iron staircase which spins elegantly up and down. Phil stands in the doorway, looking back at Dan with questioning eyes.  
"You choose." Dan merely says, a glitter in his eyes. It takes just a second for Phil to decide before he's clambering up and heaving open the door.  
Feathers fill the room. They flutter down continuously like snow fall, twirling and dancing like ballerinas. They can't see the sides, no matter how much they strain their eyes.  
"This is aw-" Dan's speech is punctuated by giggles. Phil has sneezed, and the feathers scattered around him, others settling in his hair. It creates a stunning contrast.  
"They're all over you!" Dan giggles again, rushing forward and running his fingers through Phil's hair as he pulls out feather after feather. Phil swats him away. But he's smiling.  
"Hey! You've got them too!" And then it's a battle of prising off the feathers, disturbing them in clouds around them, the room filling with childish laughs. And it's odd how they've been reduced to immaturity. But it's not reduced, more - lifted up. Because right now, youth is all they could want.  
Finding the next key is an accident. And it would be a funny accident if not for the fact that Dan is so concerned about the tame red on Phil's hands. Falling over a key and onto a wooden door isn't fun. But the wood is polished and Phil is splinter free today. Dan just can't get over the leap of his heart as he watched Phil tumble. That's all.  
Feathers flutter down amidst playing cards. Playing cards scattered on the ground, playing cards papered across the narrow walls, playing cards fashioned like origami into lamps that swing to and fro. Clubs and spades. Not colour.  
And Dan realises that Black and White, supposedly the blandest colours on earth, are what makes this circus so magical. Or are made magical by the circus. He can't really comprehend it, but that doesn't matter.  
Because the contrast makes everything swirl and sparkle and everything out side of the scheme is a burst of colour. Every orange a deep blood orange that pops like leaves in autumn, every green a new shoot in the spring and every red a lone rose on a pale corpse. And he can't help but notice how bright Phil's azure eyes are against the Black and White wallpaper, in the Black and White Circus. And he realises, as Phil leads him into a room being showered with snow, that the colour scheme makes you love the small things.  
It's cold when they eventually exit the tent, the room with a roaring fire left behind them. Phil gravitates towards Dan for warmth (it's not just that, but he's not going to admit that, and Dan would push him away if he knew) and Dan smiles at him, keeping their bodies close as they shuffle through the crowd.  
It's midnight. The circus is fully shrouded in stars - as many as possible in the middle of London - and a cool breeze sways in between the enthralled crowd. It carries the strong, tingling smell of caramel, and Dan sighs in pleasure.  
"You enjoying yourself?" Phil smirks, and Dan rolls his eyes.  
"But of course." They continue to walk down a new path. Phil is too conscious of how Dan has his mittened hand resting on his back. A few minutes pass, filled with the dying murmur of the crowd and the soft pad of their footsteps. Phil's eyes flit between Dan's illuminated face and the labels on the variety of tents.  
"Are you seriously enjoying it, though?" Phil dares to say, not quite sure why he wants to know (and why his heart is fluttering and he's biting his lip).  
"Of course I am! I'm with you!"  
Phil is at loss of words on how to reply but that doesn't matter, because a second later Dan is pointing at a tent with an exclamation of "Look! A Hall of Mirrors!" and he rushes off, leaving the inevitable awkward questions behind.  
The mirrors are fun. Unlike anything he's ever seen before, in fact, Dan realises. In one, his scarf disappears entirely. In another, there's a faint silhouette of a man in a grey suit. He laughs at the ridiculous contortions of their bodies, cringes at how his body is widened and squashed.  
"You look gorgeous." Dan notes as they stand in front of one mirror which twists their faces and makes their bodies twitch and shake as they move.  
"It's because I'm worth it" Phil flicks his head, the reflection's hair growing and twisting.  
Then they go on the Stargazer; a roller coaster that tilts slightly, unleashing the sky. The next minutes are spent with Phil coming up with ridiculous and fantastical constellations. Dan laughs when he's meant to, the rest of the time smiling tenderly at the man sat next to him.  
"Phil? Are you hungry?"  
They're walking outside again, finding their way back to the beginning. The horizon is scattered with towering buildings with blazing lights and tents buzzing with energy. Phil raises his eyebrows.  
"Are you wanting something, Daniel?"  
"Damn! And there I was thinking I was subtle." Dan says dryly.  
"Just like your mum." Phil dismisses. Dan scowls at him. But nothing. No reaction, nothing.  
"Okay. Phil, can we get food?"  
"Better…"  
"Please?"  
"Hey, you know what I really fancy! Some of those cinnamon swirl thingies!" Phil teases, earning a shove from Dan.  
"Ha. Ha. Ha."  
"You don't have to have some if you don't want-" another friendly hit from Dan.  
"Such a bully."  
"No I'm not."  
"All I wanted was food."  
"Did you? Oh I didn't know, I'm sorry."  
"Fuck you."  
"Love you too."  
They find themselves back at the courtyard. The fire is burning still, spitting heat and sparks that sparkle like frost. The juggler on the clock is juggling twelve tiny silver balls, and the lovers still haven't touched. But they're closer, Dan's sure of it.  
"Can I have that food now?" Dan can't help pleading. Because the smell is stronger and the vendors are lonely, leaving all the goods on display. And Dan just really loves cinnamon.  
"I'm not stopping you."  
There's a moment of silence.  
"Alright. Fine. I'll get it myself. I see how it is."  
"Glad I don't have to explain it."  
Dan scoffs and stalks off. He easily manages a smile as he buys a bag of the cinnamon smiles, the sugar bouncing in the bag, the paper warm on his fingers.  
Phil doesn't look at him when he returns, the previous smirk now nonexistent.  
"Have you seen her yet?" He points to a contortionist. Dan almost grimaces: she's pulling shapes which seem impossible and incredibly uncomfortable. It's still incredible, though.  
"I have now." He twists towards the living statues. "Have you seen them?" Phil steps forwards softly to study The Lovers, noticing each minuscule movement. He notices how there seems to be a force, repelling them from each other.  
"Are they alive? Moving?"  
"Yup."  
"But never touching?"  
"Yup."  
The circus is notably quieter around them. Most have either gone home or are enjoying the attractions.  
"Well, that's depressing, isn't it?"  
Dan raises his eyebrows and smiles; he remembers how he thinks they're getting there, slowly gaining closeness.

"Perhaps."

Phil may be confused, but he doesn't comment.  
"Right then." He smooths down his coat. "Where now?"

The Illusionist's performance is a cloud of smoke and doves fluttering out of shadows. Crisp flames conjure up dancing images and stories. The Illusionist's dark hair tumbles over a constantly transforming dress. The audience is trapped in the tent, under the glistening roof, but no one cares as they gape at the amazing show. Birds vanish and reappear, cages are reduced to dust, and the old woollen coat she had entered with withers into black silk. At the end, she spins and acknowledges the stricken audience; by the end of her rotation, she is no longer there. Only a faint shimmer, like far away stars, remains, representing the polished diamonds on her dress.

The bag is crumpled up in Dan's hand, the food untouched. His mouth is filled with the cinnamon as they make their way along the paths that lead to unknown creations, speckled with black and white stripes and glitter.

Lots of things in life can be black and white, he decides as he watches Phil tell him about his childhood experience. Some things are simply one thing or another: you're either happy or not, it's dark or it's not, you're alive or you're dead. But him and Phil, that's not simple. They're friends, but they're not. Because they live together, they're joined at the hip with most things, and it can't just be wishful thinking which suggests there could be more than they say. Then again, they are just friends. Phil's never shown anything more. So why is he so confused?

"Fancy going to The Wishing Tree?" The tent Phil is pointing out is tall and slimmer than the rest, the entrance shrouded with dark and the timber smell of burning.

Dan wonders if they're at the edge of the Circus or not. It's hard to tell, really. The paths lead anywhere, sometimes going back to the courtyard in a few steps even though he thought they were miles away. Dan wonders if they're at the edge of love or not. It's also hard to tell.

"Sure."

It's different to the other tents they've been in. It's empty and still; a static, calm magic rests in the air. The floor spirals in towards a tree, it's branches low and coal black. Candle wax wrestles around the branches, falling from the hundreds of candles; some are new, the flames tall and melting the spidery writing, others barely a stump. Everything is silent, leaving room for the crackle of the dancing flames.

Maybe Dan should try a bit harder to make things black or white, simpler.

"What, so you write a wish on the candle?"

"Yup." Phil picks up one of the candles and flips it in the air. It falls with a thump, and Dan laughs. "Then you light it using one of the already-lit ones."

"So fairy tale."

"Magic."

"You're gonna make me do it aren't you?"

"Of course. Go on." He chucks the pen at Dan, who barely grabs it. He thinks about black and white, then scrawls down a sentence in messy writing.

"Done." He lights it from a stump, balancing it on a branch and watches as the first stream of wax dribbles down.

"What did you wish for?" Dan raises his eyebrows. "I could easily read it." Phil explains. "It won't ruin it, right?"

"I guess."

Dan's staring at the flame, that is only flickering because of his rapid breathing.

"So, what was it?"

"That we'd be friends forever." Dan blurts out, and cringes at the cliché. Phil smiles fondly.

"And we will be, won't we?" Dan stares at his fiddling fingers.

"Even longer." And of course Phil had to make this thing even harder with a Winnie Pooh reference.

"No matter what happens?"

"Of course! Dan, what is it? What have you done now?"

"Nothing!" Dan doesn't dare look up. Black and white, he repeats to himself.

Black and White.

"It's just…" all possible words leave him, any good speeches lost to the flames. It's just him, his beating heart, Phil, and the Circus. "I might be - just maybe -" Black and White. "Be a tiny bit in love with you…" he murmurs, uncertainty tainting every word. Phil doesn't react, really - he just nods. He opens his mouth and Dan isn't sure whether he should be relieved when he doesn't talk.

Dan watches in silence as Phil lights his flame with hands which might be shaking. Phil steps back, and they both stare as the white mixes with the black bark.

"What about you?" Dan still hasn't recovered, and he keeps his eyes fixed on a flame, battling sharp tears. "What did you wish for?"

Phil's voice is soft, his eyes a piercing cocktail when Dan gives in and looks at him.

"You."

He expects something to happen. In all the films he's watched - most of them with Phil - the music would climax, fireworks could be suitable, a revelation would happen, ending in a dramatic get together scene. They just happen. But Dan's just left, standing awkwardly, puzzled. No fireworks, no music, no script.

Black and White.

"You mean - I - you feel -"

"Just shut up." Phil's voice isn't angry in the slightest, and Dan has to shut up because suddenly Phil's lips are against his. There's this sense of achievement, but linking it to completing a goal is too mild, Dan decides. It's not like getting a good grade. Reaching the top of that tree you've been staring at since you were five. It's something that feels right and natural and even better than he could have managed, and there might not be fireworks but there's some sort of Black and White magic, and Dan can imagine fireworks, anyway.

Phil can taste the cinnamon on Dan's lips and Dan can taste the chocolate on Phil's, can feel Phil's arms on his waist and he knows he's pulling Phil closer. The muffled tune of the circus fades completely, and they're the only ones in the world. It may have lasted seconds but it may have lasted minutes; a lot can happen in a night, and the Circus bends time.

"I got my wish." Phil grins when he pulls away, if Dan could call it that: he's barely centimetres from him, and a grin is an understatement. Everything about him lights up.

Dan laughs contently and the blue of Phil's eyes are the only thing he can see as he kisses him again.

Meanwhile in the courtyard the dawn is a rose red as it falls on the Lovers. The clock is reverted back to normal form, all essence of dream gone, and the Lovers are finally touching. The light from the dawn falls on the black and white of their outfits as they embrace, and it took a while, but a lot can happen in a night.


	2. Definitions

Words: 1.2k

Genre: Angst, and fluff (I guess)

Summary: Something had gone wrong, and Dan regretted nothing

AN: I wrote this a month ago and reread and was like woah okay when dead I able to write like that? (Like this style) there may be a second part written by the amazing im-a-baby-phanosaur but idk yet :)

Something had gone wrong.

Something had gone wrong, but Dan didn't regret anything. Thank god, he would tell himself everyday. Because although everyone thought it was wrong, he thought it was right. He was better off now.

Phil had moved out nearly a year ago, now - or was it two? Dan couldn't be bothered to count. It wasn't that it was painful - of course it was, but he wouldn't admit that - it was because every thought of Phil would turn him grey with anger and hatred.

He doesn't even really know what happened. He just knows that Phil had never cared, that Dan had been blind, and that in the end Phil pretending to love him had been too much. He wouldn't even admit that he only took Dan in because of pity. Dan had lost it that night, and Phil wouldn't even be human enough to admit it. He DID love Dan, he cried, over and over, and Dan just sat and rocked back and forth because of course he didn't, no one did. Why couldn't he just tell the truth, for once in this net of lies that was slowly strangling Dan.

So Dan hated him. Simple as.

But the day - and the week - had been long, and Dan couldn't keep his mind away from the enthralling face of his once companion. He had started thinking that perhaps he was blinded with this writhing thing he called hatred. Maybe, just maybe, Phil HAD cared and Dan was being stupid and he could hope and -

No.

Dan sighed and trudged through the flat, one foot dragging after the other in a pathetic parade. He almost bashed into a door frame a few times, but eventually he collapsed on the cracked couch, forcing all responsibility from his mind. As he sat down he felt the physical strains on his body float away, but the persistent silent shouts in his head intensified. Indignantly, he sighed again, squeezing his eyes shut for a few seconds; perhaps to push out all the thoughts. It didn't work, of course. Dan laughed at himself.

Why did he bother.

Why does he bother.

He then got himself lost in a void for a few minutes, or maybe a few hours, and when he woke again, he was greeted by a sense of longing.

He was definitely mad. But - no, that laptop was definitely staring at him. The temptation was too much, and his eyes just kept dragging back to it. With a sigh, he grabbed it.

Seconds later, the screen was flushed with blue, and the Tumblr logo appeared soon after.

The keyboard clicks echoed in his ears, and he hovered the cursor over the button. Was he actually doing this? But then the thought of Yes, he needed this.

Images and gifs filled the screen, and the effect of those blue eyes were the same as when he first saw them. It had been so long since he had seen them last.

It was odd how a few images of him and Phil could flush out everything, leaving him with the truth.

They just looked so happy together. When they had split, as it were, the fans had gone wild. Apparently. Dan had shielded himself from the inevitable storm. He couldn't escape from the confusion inside him, and the fans wouldn't make that any better. But he had seen the tags before The Argument. Everyone had said how much Phil adored him, friendship or otherwise - what emotion it was was irrelevant.

Dan face palmed. How. Had. He. Been. So. Stupid.

Whispering it over and over, he continued to scroll, tears dripping like blood down his cheeks. It was painful - if comforting - to see the look in their eyes. If emotions had voices, then Dan would have heard his longing for his boyfriend screaming shrilly at him; voice hoarse from the continuous attempts. And once again Dan asked how he could have let his own thoughts take away what was actually there.

He had really messed up this time.

He had let fantasy and fears mix with reality.

And then he thought about how Phil must have felt.

Ten times worse, was the answer he decided on. To be told you didn't love someone. He must have even though Dan despised him. And then he gave Dan up.

He gave Dan up, because Dan came first, and, Dan realised with another aching groan, always had.

The screen had blurred. He couldn't see anything through the stale tears, which had waited too long to plummet.

The thoughts came round in circles. They would always come back to the same things: how idiotic Dan had been, how the depression had won, and Phil.

For once, he realised with a wet, wry smile, the fans had been right. He had cared. They had both cared. But Dan had been falling, and he had kicked down the only thing keeping him up, before knocking himself out, to blind him from the plunge.

And Dan had been happy, as well. Dan saw the smile which rippled through his once glowing features, and he vaguely remembers what it's like to have that singing through your body. He looked around, about to speak up, and then he remembered that Phil wasn't there. He had lost his best friend and lover.

So what was he gonna do about it?Finally he asked the question. What was he, the pathetic mistake which he was, going to do to correct it.

Talk to Phil. That's what he was going to do. Why was that so hard to come up with?

Oh. Because he hadn't talked to Phil in ages, and he had told him he never wanted to see him. He wouldn't be surprised if he had moved on from now. His mind had kept the option hidden, because talking to Phil was his biggest fear right now.

He scooped his phone out of his pocket. He went to contacts, to find Phil's as Unnamed, and without a photo.

Now, that wouldn't do. New start; forgiveness, and all.

He went to his camera roll. He laughed; despite everything else, he had never had the heart to totally delete Phil. He still had that album.

A tear plopped on the screen, and Dan wiped it away, to find a picture of him and Phil. He chose that one, and Phil now had a face.

His finger, annoyingly, was shaking as it hovered over the blinding Call button. And he knew that his voice was shaking even more. What would he say? What could he do? Say sorry? What in the whole of Dan's mind could help Phil forgive him?! Probably nothing, he decided, but he could try. Could try to hope that his mind would choose a course.

The tone was drilling in his ears; each second cruelly taunting him.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

And then the tone, and Dan's heart, stopped. The call was unavailable, or something.

Dan was silent. His brain refused to respond, refused to cry.

And then.

And then the phone started vibrating in his hand, and, and, yes - Phil's face filled the tiny screen. Out of his mouth came a mix between a sigh, a laugh and a sob, as he pressed it to his ear.

"…Dan?"

Phil's voice filled his head; finally. Dan couldn't help smiling, and he found it ironic. Obviously he'd have to look up the definition of "Hatred".

"Phil."


	3. Out of a Screen

AN: A fic made of texts I can't remember the name if there is one

Summary: Dan finds a number on a wall and he's bored so hey why not text it and see what happens?

Warnings: None I think

Mainly fluff, tiniest bit of angst, but not really…

August 2009

From: Dan

To: Unknown Number

Sup

From: Unknown Number

To: Dan

Sky

From: Dan

To: Unknown Number

Well aren't you a smart ass

From: Unknown Number

To: Dan

Well aren't you a stranger

From: Dan

To: Unknown Number

Fair point, actually. Should I start again and forget this ever happened?

From: Unknown Number

To: Dan

Yeah that might be a good idea.

From: Dan

To: Unknown Number

Right okay.

From: Dan

To: Unknown Number

Hi my name is Dan and I found your number on a porn site and I was bored so I was like hey why not text it.

From: Unknown Number

To: Dan

What?

From: Dan

To: Unknown Number

Fine it was on a wall but me being bored still stands.

From: Unknown Number

To: Dan

I was gonna say! It'd never be on a porn site, it's all fluffy unicorns over here.

From: Dan

To: Unknown Number

Right…and who are YOU?

From: Unknown Number

To: Dan

Hi I'm Phil and I just randomly received a text from an even more random stranger at 2am, and you will decide if you still want to know me by the end of this conversation.

October 2009

From: Phil

To: Dan

You free tmrw?

From: Dan

To: Phil

As in, to meet? Are you serious?

From: Phil

To: Dan

Why wouldn't I be? :)

To: Dan

From: Phil

Then yes yes yes

February 2010

From: Dan

To: Phil 3

You have no idea how happy I am right now.

March 2010

From: Phil 3

To: Dan

I love you x

From: Dan

To: Phil 3

I love you too x

May 2011

From: Phil 3

To: Dan

What would you say if I said I was right outside your window rn?

From: Dan

To: Phil 3

I'd say do I have to get out of bed it's 1am

From: Dan

To: Phil 3

You're not actually outside are yo- YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME

From: Phil 3

To: Dan

Surprise?

From: Phil 3

To: Dan

Can you quit staring and let me in pls, it's cold out here.

September 2012

From: Phil 3

To: Dan

I can hear you from my room. Dan, it's 5am, go to sleep. And if you can't, come cuddle with me?

From: Dan

To: Phil 3

Can we do that more often? Like, if I never sleep in my own bed again would you mind?

From: Phil 3

To: Dan

But then you'd have to sleep with me…

Hmmmm

I think I could cope ;)

January 2013

From: Dan

To: Phil

I am so so sorry

From: Dan

To: Phil

I can't believe I did that

From: Dan

To: Phil

Please

From: Dan

To: Phil

The only wrong person is me and I don't know how I could ruin you I would understand if you never talked to me again

August 2014

From: Dan

To: Phil

Have you got the flowers? Oh god I can't believe I out you in charge of anything for our wedding oh god

From: Dan

To: Phil

HAVE YOU GOT THEM

From: Phil

To: Dan

It's okay, I've got them, I'm on my way now x

From: Dan

To: Phil

ABOUT TIME

From: Dan

To: Phil

I am never putting you in charge of the cake that's for sure

March 2015

From: Phil

To: Dan

Have you picked Maisie up yet? Does it really take you this long to fill in the forms? Dannnnn

February 2030

From: Dad

To: Maisie

Please come home soon your father has me trapped on the sofa watching Buffy again


	4. As Strong as You Were, Tender You Go

A songfic based on Carry You Home by James Blunt. I know lots of people dislike him but its worth listening to the lyrics :)

**TW: Mentions of death, minor gore and kinda warfare**

Rain running in streams down the sky like paint streaming down a page.

Water skips around my boots as I trudge down path after path. Pebbles create risks and I need to pay attention, I really do - I could slip - but I can't. This time, I can't reign in my mind.

_Trouble is her only friend and he's back again_

_Makes her body older than it really is_

I've met Molly before. Messy brown hair in curls around soft shoulders, a soft face and hazel eyes haunted by tears. And everything I know about her just makes my stomach squirm as I think about the inevitable - about what I am going to have to do. Life in an army base, with a brother serving, means trouble after trouble, and now I'm hauling it back to her. And she's twenty three and she's meant to be young and free but stress has aged her and it's painful to look at.

Base is always tense before a mission. Jiggling knees and wringing hands. We were staying in a brick hut several miles away from the operation target, and the humid air swelled around us, warming our flimsy clothes. We'd all been there before, we'd all survived. But that didn't mean we weren't scared. It just kindled the fire of fear which had sparked way back, during training.

The sun was setting; it casted ripples of swollen red and pink across thin and sparing clouds. We should have been sleeping, but instead we tried to stall time by singing and telling nervous jokes.

I remember when I met her last. On the cliff I'm trailing towards now. It was the night before we left and the sea churned against chalk cliffs, and the stars cowered behind fog. I went up because I couldn't sleep - and it seemed I wasn't the only one.

She nodded in recognition as I stood next to her. Two silhouettes shielding themselves from the bitter swords of the wind.

_And she says it's high time she went away_

_No one's got much to say in this town_

_Trouble is the only way is down; down, down_

"Chris died a few days back." She spoke eventually. She was whispering and choking on tears but her voice was strong and harsh against the screams of the night. "Phil's best friend. His family left a day later. Forgotten. This place doesn't even care." She gestured in anguish towards the devilish glow of the huddle of buildings we called home. "I wish he'd just let us leave. But - I think - it just made him even more determined."

I couldn't do more than nod and try and comfort her by squeezing her hand. I had no one here, but she had her brother.

It's true what she said. It's more than apparent as I trudge past people; all reserved, with tight lips and hidden gazes. Everyone knows, but not a single word is spoken. This is what warfare did. Made people's lives a steep slope, crashing down.

"Hey, Dan!" I twisted around in my seat. Phil was calling to me, and I grinned - as well as I could - as he lumbered towards me.

"Hi."

He dropped his bottle of water to the ground next to me. He sat down. "You alright?"

"Yeah." My voice was an uncertain gasp, and my hand lifted up to trail my hair away from my eyes.

"What are you doing out here?" He squeezed my shoulder. It was endearing, how much he cared. That was meant to be my job. A medic. I shouldn't really have been nervous but there I was, being comforted by someone who was going to be armed tomorrow.

"The stars. And I needed some air." I explained, and he nodded understandingly. And the stars were amazing out there; golden, almost platinum, with a lustre which filtered out into the navy waves of the sky. We sat in silence for a few minutes. I let the nature fill my head as I attempted to block any emotions.

"We should probably sleep now, yeah?" He squeezed my shoulder again, supporting me and my exhaustion as he wrapped his arm further around me. I smiled gratefully.

"Yeah." I could hear his steady breathing, the song of a bird a mile or so away. "You're a good friend, Phil. Thanks. I - I wish I had talked to you more, before…"

"Yeah." And he tried to smile but his eyes lost the glint. A shield destroyed. "No problem."

_If she had wings she would fly away_  
_And another day God will give her some_

"Do you wish we could just fly? Get wings, step off this cliff and fly away from everything?" I surprised myself with the sound of my voice, and I laughed at the suggestion. Nodding, she laughed too, wiping away a few tears.  
"Yeah." she said. "I do. And another day, perhaps, we'll get them…Some before others." The last part was a whisper and her eyes dulled as they darted towards one sleeping house amongst many.  
I'm walking back along that path now. And I'm not sure if it's tears wetting my eyes or rain. And I can hear the wind and water mercilessly thrashing the cliffs below, and again I just want to sprout wings and fly away from everything.

_Strong as you were_

Brave faces. Everywhere I looked, all I could see was strong, determined expressions caged in khaki. Weapons slung over their backs, some wounds pinching their skin, but somehow they were smiling and I was crumbling.

"It'll be alright, yeah?" Luke comforted from beside me. I nodded, and my lips managed to turn up in a corpse of a smile.

"I really admire you guys." I mumbled to the group, and it was true; they were all ready and prepared to risk everything. Phil was smiling.  
"Bye." I shifted under my clothes, lifting my arm and waving until their camouflage faded away into the undergrowth.

The hourglass turned over.

_Bang_

Barely minutes later. Yells and crashes streamed through the thick trees. Anxiety and panic flooded my stomach and I rushed forward. My feet cracked twigs like bones and my arms hastily shoved branches out of my way. It was night-time and it was dark and the explosion had ignited the sky like an ugly firework.

It came into sight. A ruined pile of bricks that has once been some sort of shack. Fire lapping at bits of shrub. The flames highlighted the silhouette of one body. I didn't know where the others were. But that didn't matter as I rushed forward and collapsed beside them.

"Phil?"

_Tender you go._

My voice was broken. His eyes flickered open and he smiled. I had never noticed him before, not properly, but I could tell that his smile was dimmed. His eyes didn't sparkle in the sunset and his raven black hair was curling from sweat, matted with blood.

"Hey." He whispered. A painful groan suffocated his lips.

"I can help. I can — I promise. I-"

"Don't. It's too late."

I was crying by then. He reached for my hand and squeezed, tried so hard to strengthen his smile. "Hey. Shh, it's okay. C'mere." Somehow his arms lifted and we embraced; I wrapped my arms round his limp body, cradling him in my lap.

"I should be comforting you!" I sobbed, wiping away loose tears. He laughed slightly. It was so weak. Everything about him was fading, his foundations collapsing.

_I'm watching you breathing for the last time_

His breathing was rapid and shallow, wrapped with coughs.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't help."

"It's okay. You being here is enough. Just, listen and talk to me, eh?"

"I'm sorry I didn't talk to you more." Regret shot me and I sobbed again. So, so weak.

"Such a wuss." He teased, and I laughed breathily, combing my fingers through his hair.

"You're a good man, Dan." And no. No, he wasn't going to do this. I held him closer, watching the azure fade into grey.

"You make funny jokes. Always cheered me up, cheered us all up. You're clever and brave, you know that?"

"How do you know? We only talked a few times." Again, regret.

"It was enough." Pain shot through him again, and I planted a timid kiss on his forehead to comfort him.

_A song for your heart_

"Well, if we're having one of those moments, then I could tell you that you have a great smile." I attempted, the edges of my lips turning up ever so slightly. He laughed despite everything.

"I always knew it was my best feature."

"So vain. And, you're an amazing man, Phil. Always see the best in everything…"

_But when it is quiet I know what it means_

I hadn't seen someone die before, let alone some kind of friend. I buried my head in his chest. His heart was barely thumping, dying, and he was crying, now, too.

_And I'll carry you home_

"And-and, I'll carry you home, yeah?" The words cracked in my mouth, and I tried to smile as our eyes met.

"Great. I've always wanted my body to rot in Britain, not in a field somewhere." He was teasing using a delicate voice, and I watched his features, tears streaming down and mixing with blood.

"That's not what I meant. I mean - I'll make sure they never forget you, yeah? I'll carry your memory home, because if I'm a good man, then you're exceptional."

"I still want my body to rot in England." I glared at him amidst tears.

"And thanks, Dan. And, it's cliché, but make sure Molly knows I'm grateful for her." I nod rapidly.

"Yes, yes, of course."

"And, have a good life, Dan. Be the good man I know you are."

I can't see; it's dark and my tears are clouding my vision in poisonous clouds.  
"I'm not a good man."

"Yes, you are. You're going to carry me home."  
He must have used the last of his strength to pull himself up closer to me, wrapping his arms tight around me. And I squeezed my eyes tightly shut as I felt them go weak.

(And the sand ran out, and the song ended. And he grew wings, and I knew what Molly had meant, that night.)

_I'll carry you home_

Alone, I stood up in the silent night. I gently scooped him up, brushing the hair from his eyes and shutting his bright eyes away from the world forever. And, as promised, I carried him.

_And they're all born pretty in New York City at night_

Shock and impact. That's what Phil Lester died of. And everyone knew it. Whilst children were born in glamorous cites, a good man had died in another's arms.

And I was still carrying him. That face rested in my mind, memories haunting dreams - and I would speak of him to anyone willing to listen.

A grieving figure, black against the dying sky: Molly stood, hugging herself, the wind taunting her from every side. I walked up beside her. It was just like that first meeting, only a few weeks ago. Except this time, we were carrying the weight of a dead man.

She turned towards me. Her watery eyes meet mine. As her face fell, my heart plummeted.

_And someone's little girl is taken from the world tonight_

_Under the Stars and Stripes_

Her eyes skim down to the battered letter in my hands. All hope, all happiness, all _youth_ dies in her complexion as she falls into my arms. I hold her close.

"It's not fair. It's not fair."

"I know."

And I DO know. I know that war and death isn't how they show it. A body in a coffin, under a flapping flag, isn't a good way to go. It's just the entrance to doom, forgotten by those represented by that flag. Because they remember a group, an army; but individuals all merge until they aren't really THEM anymore.

And I knew Phil. Not as well as Molly, but I watched him laugh, and I talked to him with fleeting words, and I watched his life fly away on wings I don't have. So I mean it, I really do, when I say:  
"I'm so sorry."


End file.
